


Brother, Take Back Your Damn Hand

by tebtosca



Series: French Mistake verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU!J2, M/M, Pornstars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:11:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tebtosca/pseuds/tebtosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean film another porno in the AU universe of the French Mistake</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brother, Take Back Your Damn Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Timestamp sequel to Brother, Can You Lend a Hand?

“Are they freaking serious with this?” Dean growls, propping the Jason-style hockey mask up on the top of his head as he watches Bald Guy and his bored crew setup.

“At least they don’t have you in twenty layers of knitwear. I’m sweating like _you_ in a church right now,” Sam mumbles, pulling at the gigantic red scarf that is bundled up around his neck. Sweat beads on his brow and Dean wants to lick it---

Goddamn it, _no he does not_ , thank you very much.

“It was bad enough when fake-Dad showed up. I almost pissed my pants.” Dean paused. “If I had been wearing pants, you know.”

Sam snickers. “Thank god Mr. Rectum of the Year got ‘no watersports’ into his contact.”

Dean hits him with the hockey stick as Sam yells “ow!”

“If you mention that one more time, I’ll bash your fucking brains in with this thing!”

“Hey, Jensen,” a prissy little voice purrs from behind them.

_Oh god, please no._

Dean spins around to face his arch nemesis in blue, who is wielding a bottle of K-Y like a machete.

“C’mon, Jensen, it’s for your own good,” Fake-Cas smirks at him, waving his fingers in a lewd manner.

Dean pokes him with the hockey stick to push him away. “You get back before I break something, you creepy fake-angel motherfucker!”

Fake-Cas pouts. “I’ll be gentle this time. No pictures, promise.”

Dean hits him with the stick in the same spot he hit Sam.

“Back, fake-Cas, back!”

Dean doesn’t duck fast enough, as a bottle of lube hits him in the hockey mask.

Sam turns to him after fake-Cas marches off in a huff. He swallows hard and can’t quite look at Dean. “Um, so Dean. Don’t you think you might need the, erm…the lube, Dean, you’re going to need the lube.”

Dean’s tempted to let Sam stay embarrassed for another fifteen minutes just for kicks, but his own face feels like it’s on fire.

“Already done,” Dean mumbles.

Sam looks up, surprised. “What was that?”

“I said it’s already done, dammit,” Dean hisses, waving the hockey stick at his brother in a hopefully intimidating fashion.

Sam’s eyes go to half-lids, and if Dean wasn’t so pissed about, well, _everything_ , he might be enjoying it right now.

“You lubed yourself up already?”

“I might have stuck a finger or two up there,” Dean admits, purposefully not looking at him.

Suddenly, Sam is all up in his space and knitwear is scratching Dean’s neck. “You did it all by yourself?”

Dean knocks him back and hits him with the stick again. “It’s better than letting fake-Cas stick something up there! Jesus Christ, this world sucks. I’m gonna kill that fucking angel dick when we get back. BAM--angel sword right to the face.”

Just as Dean is attempting to figure out a way to flee the scene completely, Bald Guy’s voice rings out through his trusty megaphone.

“Jensen, where do you think you’re going?”

Dean waves the hockey stick in the vicinity of the voice. “Fuck you, you bald perv! I’m done, you hear me, done!”

“Jensen,” Bald Guy intones, like Dean’s a child. “Do I have to call JD back to set to supervise?”

_Is Sam laughing? Sam is laughing, that bitch!_

“That’s more like it,” Bald Guy hollers, when Dean doesn’t move from the spot he’s frozen on. “Get ready everyone, for take one of Fuckday the 13th.”

“You liked it last time,” Sam murmurs in his ear, suddenly pressed up along Dean’s back.

“I’m a good actor,” Dean grits out, but if he presses his ass back just a bit against Sam’s groin, who’s going to tell?

“Setup guys!” Bald Guy yells, and damn that fucker is going to burst one of his vocal cords one day. “Jensen, you chase after Jared. Wave the stick around, look scary.”

The crew stops to laugh at that and Dean snarls at them.

“Jared, you run away, act scared and shit, whatever. And then when Jensen reaches you, you pick him up, throw him over that fake tree stump, and fuck him in the ass. Capisce?”

Sam grins like he just got a Gold Star in third grade. If Winchesters did shit like get Gold Stars. Or go to third grade.

Dean hits him with the stick for good measure.

“Run, bitch, run!” Fake-Ruby cackles at him from the sidelines, and she seems to be groping someone that looks suspiciously like Other Ruby. Great, that’s all Dean needs—two fake-Rubies. Like his asshole doesn’t have enough problems right now.

Twenty minutes later finds Dean panting into the hockey mask as his knitwear-clad brother fucks his baseball bat of a dick into his ass.

Dean totally doesn’t enjoy it.

Much.

Sam does a little twisty thing with his hips, and where did the kid learn _that?_

At least Dad doesn’t show up this time.

“Bob, how are my boys?”

_Sonovabitch._


End file.
